


Pandora's Box

by Branwen_Merla



Series: Loki's Adventures on Midgard [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Loki - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hunters & Hunting, Illusions, Mystery, Pandora's Box, Secret Identity, Secrets, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branwen_Merla/pseuds/Branwen_Merla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Original story, yet situated (is that the right word?) after Thor 2 (Marvel).This Loki is a mix between Hiddles, comic, and mythology.</p><p>Some of the chapters are shorter than others.<br/>Also, as a side note, I have drawn a few of the scenes... will upload to DA when I have time. </p><p>Hope you enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Original story, yet situated (is that the right word?) after Thor 2 (Marvel).This Loki is a mix between Hiddles, comic, and mythology.
> 
> Some of the chapters are shorter than others.  
> Also, as a side note, I have drawn a few of the scenes... will upload to DA when I have time. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bored King finds amusement in a mysterious stranger and the horrors she has unleashed upon Earth. But is she really human, or something else?

“Some days are terribly dull.” ‘Odin’ sighs as he dips the tip of his staff into the water. The small scrying pool ripples, galaxies of stars shimmering as the coloured light dances across the surface. Flicking through planets, much like daytime television channels, he pauses on Midgard upon seeing a familiar red-caped figure making doe eyes at a woman. ‘Odin’ shakes his head.

“Another visit to Jane? Brother, she is but a human. Her lifespan is a mere breath to us.”

The pool’s surface is disturbed as a black cloak flashes across the screen.

“Hm?”

Focusing on the black cloak and zooming out, there is an image of a hooded figure perched on a high branch in a large oak tree. The arm that protrudes from the raven feathered, crushed velvet of the black cloak is obviously a feminine one, as the three-fingered soft black sleeve is skin-tight. The two visible medium-length, claw-like fingernails are painted forest green and tipped with gold, with a small golden arrow painted on only one. Her hunched back shares its space with a black leather quiver, full to the brim with bamboo arrows, and an ebony wood recurve hunting bow, adorned with sleek raven feathers.

Although she has a bow, he concludes that she is not like Hawkeye. The aura she seemingly emanates is more of a Machiavellian nature - likely some sort of thief or rogue, yet there is something unnatural about her that he cannot place. With his intrigue peaked, he decides to observe her and to possibly use her at a later date, as the stranger is unlike any human he has yet to meet, and she may be more than willing to do some of his bidding.

*

“What a horrible time to feel like someone is watching you.” She shudders as she surveys the immediate area. Jumping from roughly three stories, she nary makes a noise or an imprint on the soft ground, as she slowly stalks her way toward the two kitchen staff having a smoke break near the backdoor of the museum-like mansion.

“…Everything must be ready for tonight.”

“It’s all hands on deck tonight, right? Because of the banquet?”

“Banquet, private showing, invitation only… whatever you want to call it. Visiting dignitaries and noble pricks, if you ask me.”

Putting out their cigarettes, they go back inside. A scheming grin plays at her lips as the hooded stranger slinks into the fast encroaching night.

*

“I wish I could produce sound on this thing.” ‘Odin’ mumbles haughtily as he tries to track the woman he had seen. Without much luck, he decides to attend the aristocratic party on Midgard, knowing full well that is where she will be. He saw the grin on her lips, and he knew it well - it was the same one he sees in the mirror.

*

High heels click-clacked on the white marble steps as a pale woman approached the security guarding the entrance.

“Invitation.” The guard commanded gruffly, without looking up from his post behind the desk. He was greeted by silence. Eventually raising his gaze from the security monitor, he saw a bewitching black haired beauty, leaning ever-so-slightly over the desk. Her low-cut, form-fitting black satin dress slid silkily over her body whenever she took but a minute step, and the black lace trim hid anything that may be considered scantily clad or scandalous if she moved the wrong way. The dress was anything but constrictive, as a split travelled up the length of her thigh, but not high enough to show the small daggers she had concealed in her garter. Her onyx black hair was slightly curled in an intricate up-do, raven feathers tucked decoratively in the more tightly wound curls. She gave him an enchanting smile as her fingertips brushed the back of his hand, the guard’s eyes glazed over and motioned to the footmen to open the doors.

“Thank you.” She said with a voice like wind whispering in the trees.

Stepping into the parlour, she is greeted by the sound of soft music of a string quartet positioned rather uncomfortably on a small stage, the sight of tuxedos and formal attire being worn by the obviously wealthy, the waiters in their smart butler-like outfits whizzing around with trays of champagne and food, and the smell of hors d'oeuvres tickling her nose. Smirking with a mix of amusement and the look one gives when observing an animal in a zoo, she is quick to examine all entrance and exit points with but a glance. There would have been an easier way to do what she intended, but all the windows had been locked for the evening, ensuring no burglars would have easy access.

Taking a sip of champagne from the flute glass she took off the tray of a wandering waiter, her mind quickly shuffles through the memorised layout of the building and where the upstairs trophy room is located. Feeling eyes on her, she turns.

Standing directly behind her is an elderly gentleman, white hair slicked back with product and white beard kept and tidy. He wasn’t wearing an ordinary tuxedo however, but an elegant three-piece suit, lined with gold satin and a pocket watch tucked neatly into his breast pocket. His one blue eye shone mysteriously, and his other was covered by a black eyepatch.

“Care for a dance?” Offering her his hand, he smiles kindly, yet with hidden meaning.

“I’m sort of busy…” She replies, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as she openly stares at the palm presented to her. Her eyes flick up to his, staring deep and studying anything he may be hiding. After a moment, a wicked grin flits across her face and settles on a polite smile, “Sure, why not.”

Placing her perfectly manicured hand in his, they begin dancing slowly. Noticing her green and gold nails, the man is the first to speak.

“Nice nails.”

“Thank you.”

Realising that the one nail which had only an arrow the previous night now also had a bow, he brings it into conversation. “I appreciate the patience it must have taken to draw small imagery on such a small canvas.”

“Indeed. Which is why it is only painted on one.” she answers keeping eye contact, smiling politely again.

The music gets faster, as it turns into a waltz.

“You certainly know how to dance.”

“So do you.” The grin from only moments ago flickers across her face once again, “I’m surprised you can keep up, actually. Given your age.”

The man smirks at her comment.

“Or maybe… you’re young at heart.”

The man’s feet stop for a split second, providing her opportunity to slip out of his grasp. She escapes into the crowd, sliding her hand along the backs of the people she passes.

The song finishes and the crowd clap – seemingly a signal, the windows and doors fly open with a bang. Insects flood from all openings into the white marble mansion, yet not all of the people panic. Only those whom the woman had touched are running and screaming, swatting at something the others cannot see. The room is plunged into chaos as the elderly man grins, watching the woman ascend the wooden stairwell on the opposite side of the room.

 

Reaching the last step of the spiral staircase, the woman checks her surroundings and quietly makes her way down the carpeted hallway to the last wooden door on her left. Picking the lock, she cracks the door open slowly, her eyes widening at the sight of several glass cases - all containing different artifacts from legends and throughout history.

“A lot of these do not belong here.”

Hearing footsteps, she hurries to the glass case closest to the window.

“I did want to do this more tactfully, but it seems I am out of time.”

Shattering the glass case with her elbow and setting off a silent alarm which she knows it is wired to, she grabs the object it was protecting and unlatches the window. She is sitting on the window sill, facing the door as it opens.

Her dance partner from moments before stands in the entrance.

“Did you save me another dance? How kind, but I must cut and run.” With a wink and a grin, she falls backward and disappears into the night with only the sound of beating wings and a crow’s caw.

Before turning to leave, the man sees something shining in the moonlight. Walking over toward the window, he brushes away the few raven feathers he assumes is from her hair, and picks up a small, empty glass vial. “Hallucinogens?”

*

“I’m home!” She yelled as she opened the door to her empty forest abode. The interior was nothing of what you would expect from a ram-shackled and abandoned cabin - the wooden logs of the wall were polished to a shine, as were the floorboards. Woven rugs scattered the floor, and the furniture mostly consisted of polished wooden pieces. Her most prized piece was the black and silver chez lounge, seemingly out of place in this already mismatched, studio-like home. The only thing that really stood out however, was the Grecian urn in the corner that sat delicately on a black marbled pedestal – the only truly materialistic thing she treasured, a gift from her parents. Although she liked the comfort, she was never one for cities and, _ugh_ , people. She felt most at home surrounded by nature, possibly the influence from her mother. Picking some grapes and berries off the assorted vines and bushes that grew in her house, she collapsed onto her favourite couch.

Turning her new stolen treasure over in her hands, she examines it. Its intricate wooden carvings glisten with temptation, as the golden symbols spell promises of excitement, changing messages with each blink of an eye. Running her hands over the lid, she began to contemplate. She began to think of the stories and the legends that were spread across time, changing constantly like Chinese whispers. She remembered the bedtime stories her parents had told her, and of the horrors which could be unleashed upon humanity if this artifact were opened. If the monsters inside were given the chance to gain their full strength, it would likely be the end of all.

This box had been open once before by a young curious woman and, after hunting the evil that had been freed and captured, the Gods had sealed it away in an unknown corner of the universe. But of course, things cannot stay hidden for long and humans had once again discovered a weapon that could destroy the world, creating anarchy in every corner of the globe.

Twirling the box again, she weighed up the benefits and the reward of her mission, compared to the agonising dullness of life on this planet. Nothing happens on Earth. The events of New York and when the Dark Elves attacked were just a fluke that she was called away from, saying it was not her fight. She wanted excitement. She wanted something to do. She wanted to fight. She wanted to _Hunt._

With that final thought, she opened the box with a maniacal grin.

*

Looking into the scrying pool once again, ‘Odin’ sees Midgard and the wave of darkness encompassing it like a tidal wave. A wickedly smiling face with glinting, royal-purple ringed emerald eyes, flashes through his mind.

“It couldn’t have been her, she is just a human. Perhaps the artifact she stole was of importance. Could it have caused this?”

The pool ripples and comes to rest on the billowing black smoke pouring from the open box, looking much like demons clambering to get out of an open hell gate, and the laughing woman behind it.

*

Closing the box, the woman lets out a whoop as she grabs her bow and quiver, “The hunt is on!”

Leaving the mess in the cabin behind her, her formal clothes change to that of what she perceives to be the normal clothes of the masses.

Walking the streets of the town, she looks for any sign of what she may have unleashed. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, and feeling a bit deflated, she happens upon a bar.

“A drinking establishment? Perfect.”

*

Stepping into the tavern from the backdoor alley, the man scans the room for the woman he tracked to this spot. The tight black jeans, black singlet, black army boots, and maroon leather jacket cause him to pause briefly, until he sees the nails of the hand that is wrapped around the drink on the counter.

“I knew I’d see you again.”

Hearing a familiar voice, she glances to the stool on her right, “Are you stalking me now?”

“Would you like me to?” He smiles a crooked grin, tinted with only but a small amount of sleaze.

Her reply was with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow, “Not in that form.”

“What?”

“What?”

After a moment of silence as they stare each other down, she is the first to look away as she clears her throat, “I didn’t expect to see someone like you in a regular tavern.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Once again, she smiles mysteriously as her eyes glitter. Ignoring the accusatory question, she tucks her long, raven feathered black hair behind her ear, and extends a hand, “The name is Branwen Merla.”

Before he could grasp her hand in a firm handshake, there is a shout from behind them and the sound of shattering glass as a man goes flying through a window. In mere moments, the tavern becomes a scene of a bar brawl. Bottles and punches are flying, hitting whomever they first get contact with. Sitting calmly on her stool whilst the ruckus continues behind her, Branwen sighs and lifts her drink as a man is slid across the wooden bar.

“You seem awfully calm in this situation.” The similarly undisturbed man beside her comments.

“I’ve seen worse.”

Sensing something unknown behind her, she cranes her neck a little, enhancing the width of her peripheral vision. Picking up on her subtle movement, her elderly eye-patched friend tilts his head slightly, observing her and what is going on behind them in the reflection of the mirrored bar wall behind the assorted bottles of alcohol.

“What do you see?”

Resisting the urge to manifest and draw her bow, Branwen slips the dagger she has concealed up her sleeve into her hand, swivels her stool, and flicks her wrist in one quick motion. Her intended target flickers with a taunting and mocking grin before dispersing once again into the reddish-black smoke, exiting the tavern rather forcefully through the now broken window.

“Interesting.” Branwen mumbles, hand on her chin and deep in thought.

The fighting doesn’t stop however, as tables keep breaking and bottles continue to smash against people’s heads.

Branwen absently picks up her drink to take a sip, only to be slammed into. Her eyes sharpen like razor wire as the contents of her glass is spilt onto her shoes, “I’m starting to get real sick of this.” Striding over to her dagger, she removes it from the bullseye of the dartboard, and grips its hilt.

Hiding the fact he was slightly impressed by her aim, and wondering whether she is contemplating slaughtering the whole room judging by the way she is brandishing her weapon, her older friend swivels in time to see her saunter toward him.

“Hold this.” Branwen throws him the sheathed dagger, “And this.” She takes off her leather jacket and flings it onto him, as well.

Pulling down the maroon jacket that covers his eye slightly, he sees her roll her shoulders and her neck, before releasing a sigh.

“I got this.” She mutters almost inaudible from the loud yelling in the bar. Walking with deliberate placed steps to avoid all the broken glass and bloodied people on the ground, she approaches and steps up onto the small stage which seems to be untouched. Taking a deep breath, Branwen begins singing a hauntingly bewitching melody.

Sounding much like the song Frigga hummed to the boys when they were but children, her friend’s eye widens as he glows green momentarily, his illusion wavering. Strengthening it, he looks to the stage to see if Branwen has noticed. Thankfully, she has her eyes closed.

The fighting stops immediately. All in the tavern drop whatever, or whomever, they are holding and all stare glassy-ueyed to the black clad woman on the stage. Finishing the song, she opens her eyes with feigned trepidation and a confident smile.

_‘So it’s not just by touch. Interesting development.’_ Her thoughts are broken by the gruff voice of her friend.

“Talk about a captive audience”

She gives a half smirk in reply.

*

When the sun is high in the sky the following day, Branwen makes her way toward the town library. Burying herself in several books from the shelves and others from the archives, she pays no heed to the person whom is approaching her.

“Is this seat taken?”

Without looking up from the book she is reading, she motions with her hand that it is not.

“Interesting choice of literature.”

He has a wonderfully charming voice, though still she does not look up, even as he scans through the books on the table.

“‘Pandora’s Box’, ‘The Seven Deadly Sins’, ‘Myths and Legends’?”

Slightly frustrated by the intrusion, she replies with venom in her tone. “Well, I may have just unleashed apparent evil unto this world for my own amusement, only to find that I cannot hunt my prey and damage them with normal means. So, studying them would be a wise course of action, no?”

“Unleashing evil unto the world does sound like the fun thing to do.”

Hearing this, Branwen blinks three times in rapid succession, breaking herself out of concentration and finally glancing up from her book. Smiling at her is a smartly dressed man, wearing an emerald-green with gold pinstripe dress shirt, the first three buttons are undone. Judging from his shirt, she assumes he is wearing black dress pants and black dress shoes. His long black hair is slicked back with natural oils, as his green eyes study her for a reaction.

There is a slight tug at the corner of her lips as a small smirk gives way.

“Ah, it’s you.”

“You recognise me? Perhaps from New York?”

Her eyes glitter ominously, “Oh, no. Not from New York.” Placing her book down, she leans her elbows on the table and her chin on her entwined fingers. “So, tell me Mister Handsome Stranger…”

The man grins at the flattery, yet still finds himself interjecting to correct her, “I am Loki, although it is a nice to be referred to as such. I am surprised you have not heard of me.”

Returning his smile, Branwen feigns ignorance, “Are you a rock star or something? Anyway, as I was saying… do you believe in Gods?”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

After an intense staring match with both sides wearing fearless smiles, Loki finally parts his lips to answer.

“…Yes.”

_‘He agrees, yet he does not correct. Curious.’_ Branwen’s cheek twitches slightly, almost betraying her thoughts. Stealthily hiding this fact, she picks up a large column of teetering books and dumps it in front of her new study buddy. “Great! That makes research easier.”

Loki cocks an eyebrow, “I was hoping we could go elsewhere.”

“What, and miss this riveting literary adventure? Perish the thought!”

Loki snorts a little, attempting to hold back the laugh that is threatening to escape his throat.

“No, we cannot leave until I find what I’m searching for.”

“And what _are_ you searching for?”

“Anything useful, preferably of the ‘how to kill’ variety.”

Silence descends as they both immerse themselves in their books. The pile on the table lessens, as the pile on the floor by their feet grows. Reading more or less the same book over and over, boredom begins to give way to distraction as they once again become aware of the person sitting opposite. Without either looking up, a small conversation ensures.

“The feathers you wear in your hair, they are much like the Valkyrie.”

“Aw, that’s sweet, yet not my intention. Although I am somewhat a warrior, I am also a scholar, and they are more to symbolise a messenger, such as Hermes. The sleek choice of the black raven feathers however, are my own preference.”

“The clasp on your cloak is unlike any I have seen.”

“It’s like a family coat of arms. The coiled snake is from my father, as the two crescent moons are that of my mother.”

There is a short silence, until Loki once again breaks it.

“You never told me your name.”

“I believe I did yesterday.”

Raising his green eyes, he realises his companion across the table is grinning at him with amusement, her eyes narrowed as they twinkle with mischief.  

“You must have me confused with someone else, we have only just met.”

“Oh?” Branwen’s grin grows wider, as if to goad him. “Apologies, my mistake.” Shifting her gaze back to the book that lay open, a sentence catches her eye. “Ah! Got something.”

“Well don’t keep us in suspense, tell the class.”

“‘…The virtues are identified as; chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility. Practicing them are said to protect oneself against temptation from The Seven Deadly Sins - if released, they can be defeated by their corresponding counterparts.’”

“In this day and age, where will you find virtues?”

Squinting slightly, deep in thought, Branwen suddenly grabs a book from the ‘already read’ floor pile and quickly flicks through its pages. “They aren’t necessarily beings, like The Seven. They could be items that a person could use… also, check this out.” Sliding the battered old book across the table, Loki grabs it as soon as it is in arms reach.

“Interesting... so only humanity is influenced by The Deadly Seven? Meaning Gods are not.”

“Correct. According to the book, they attack by whispering into your ear, tempting you, bringing your internal desires to the surface. So, I guess all we need to do is keep an eye out for places where lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride would likely be seen.”

“We?”

“Oh come now Loki, where is your sense of adventure?” Branwen smirks and playfully pokes out her tongue in a childish, teasing manner.

“I am… slightly curious…” He confesses with a smirk of his own, _‘…of you.’_ He adds in his mind.

*


	2. The Two G's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the perfect place for Sins?   
> Branwen discovers there are repercussions to opening a cursed object.

Night falls and a hooded figure is spotted slipping between two trees. The moon is high in the sky as Branwen stealthily flits from shadow to shadow, gliding silently across the dried leaf ground of the forest that hides and protects her home. Knowing she is being followed, she circles her prey quietly, manipulating them into believing she is still ahead of them. The crunching of leaves grow louder as a man runs past her hiding place and pauses in the clearing, looking confused. Surely she had come this way, yet there is no one in sight.

An arrow whizzes past the man illuminated by the full moon, before sinking solidly into the trunk of a nearby tree, pinning whomever was hiding there by the cloth on their shoulder blade.

The pinned man raises his eyes to the branch of the tree many meters away, as the illusion in the clearing flickers with green light before dispersing. The hooded figure jumps down, cloak billowing like the wings of a crow and swirling around the white legs of the woman as she lands barefooted.

“That was my best shirt.”

The response he receives is a chuckle as the woman strides toward him, lowering her hood.

“That could have been dangerous.”

“I’m a good shot.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, like all the good little humans?”

 “I hunt best at night.”

“Yet you missed your prey.”

“Oh, did I? An arrow millimetres from your ear says otherwise.” Wrapping a hand around the bamboo, she pulls it out of the wood easily, “I know when something is an illusion, and when it is not.” Tucking the arrow back into her quiver, she turns her eyes back to Loki whom is examining the hole in his leather. Bowing exaggeratingly, she addresses him with obvious sarcasm, “So, to what do I owe the honour of having a God stalk me? Shouldn’t you be ruling somewhere?”

Loki’s shoulders twitch slightly, before clearing his throat, “So you know who I am?”

“Of course I do. I knew as soon as I saw you.”

“In the library?”

“... Sure.”

Completely missing the pause before the answer, Loki waves his hand dismissively, “No matter. You live somewhere around here, yes?”

“You know, stalking is a serious crime.” Branwen mocks him with a grin.

“Oh, should I be worried? Worried that a human such as yourself would dare turn a God into the authorities?”

Her grin falters slightly, turning more into a sneer accompanied by an icy glare. “Authorities? No. But I know where to find a certain blonde man.”

“That is supposed to frighten me?”

“It is when it’s your brother.”

Loki spins to face her, to see what sort of expression she is wearing. Her lips are smiling sweetly, although her eyes are most definitely not.

“So, Loki, why _are_ you following me?”

 _‘ ~~I’m not entirely convinced you ARE human~~ , ~~I wanted to lure you away from your home with my illusion so I could snoop around~~ , ~~you intrigue me~~ , ~~I could possibly use you for my own goals at a later date~~ …’_ filtering through the replies in his mind, Loki decides that it would be best to stay on her good side for the moment, unknowing if the threat was real or not. “… I thought we could start hunting tonight.”

“We?”

“It would be an interesting exercise.”

Branwen eyes him dubiously before twirling on her heel, “Do try to keep up.”

*

Dawn breaks as the suns bright golden rays glisten off the boutiques pristinely clean windows. Loki cocks an eyebrow at the many-storied cement building in front of him, as a man collecting for charity rattles a tin can nearby.

“A mall?”

The double automatic doors slide open, and a cool air-conditioned breeze hits their faces.

“It’s the perfect place for sins, no?”

There’s a sudden shout from the food court, “Sir, I think you’ve had enough!”

“Oh my God! He ate him!”

Branwen and Loki share a look.

“I rest my case.” Branwen shrugs as she makes her way toward the escalators.

 

“He looks like a planet!” Loki exclaims as he sees the enormousness of the man perched upon an uncomfortable amount of plastic chairs. Food of every kind is spilling from the table onto the floor, as the mountain of tacos he is currently eating teeter dangerously. The vast majority of the patrons that are in the food court are stuffing their faces with gusto, unable to stop. Some however, seem to be huddled behind the stands, doing what humans do – filming and taking pictures with their smart phones. There is no trace of the man whom had apparently been eaten.

“Seriously? The shoes too?” Branwen turns to Loki, but comes face to face with herself. “Really, must you? It’s creepy.”

“Cameras.” Her own voice exits her doppelgangers lips, they then grin, “Look we’re twins! And quite ravishing ones at that.”

Sighing with exasperation, Branwen once again turns her focus back to what she assumes to be Gluttony. Her eyes squint slightly as she tilts her head.

“What is it?” Asks her voice next to her ear.

The bulbous fingers are flicking something a little too dexterously between them. The plastic chip passes under one and over another, as Gluttony shovels forkfuls of food into his abyss-like gob with his free hand, practically inhaling what is before him.

“Temperance.” Branwen replies with a large grin. Although quite capable herself, she makes a request of Loki, “I have an idea, illusion me. Give me that uniform.” After being briefly encased in a green light, Branwen proceeds to wrap her long, high ponytail around the base, making a bun. “Okay, stay here.”

Striding toward the blobulous man, she grabs a green apron that has been slung over the back of a chair, wraps it around her waist, grabs a plate of discarded food and approaches Gluttony’s table.

“More food, sir?” She smiles politely, offering the plate to him. Before placing it upon the table, she ‘accidently’ spills the contents all over the front of his sweat-stained shirt. “Oh my apologies, sir! I will get a washcloth and some more food for you instantly!” Branwen bows and powerwalks over to where her doppelganger awaits.

The visage that Loki created for Branwen shimmers and fades. She pulls something out of the aprons pocket before throwing it to the side.

“You are frighteningly good at that.”

Undoing the bun, she examines what she had stolen. “An AA sober chip?”

“How do you know if that is what you need?”

There is a bellowing roar as Gluttony flips his table.

“Call it a hunch.”

Turning his bulging eyes toward the two of them, Gluttony begins to charge them like a rhino, headfirst, his fat folds swaying from side to side.

“He’s surprisingly quick for someone so big.”

“Should we really be talking about that, right this instance? We should probably think of a way to destroy this, and quick.” Branwen uses her thumb to flip the chip to Loki, before running off.

Loki catches the chip and examines it. Holding it up to the light, he sees… an ordinary plastic chip.

“Drop it!”

Loki drops the chip to the ground as Branwen runs up with a large hammer. Swinging it down, she breaks the chip in half only seconds before Gluttony reaches them.

“Well, that was easy.”

“Where’d you get the hammer?”

“It’s a mall.”

There is a bubbling noise and groaning. Turning to look in the direction of the sound, they see Gluttony expanding.

“In your research, did you discover anything about taking a semi-physical form?”

“Um, no.”

“Should we take cover just in case?”

“We should.” Before they could move, there is a ripping pop noise as everything is showered in a mixture of half-digested food, saliva, and other bodily fluids.

“FOOD FIGHT!” Branwen yells with morbid humour, throwing her arms up as she drips with the multi-coloured goop.

Wiping slime from his eyes, Loki is once again himself. He blinks as he flicks his hands, removing the excess grime and, now being able to see, he notices a large cloud of black smoke hanging heavy in the air. He sees it hurtle toward Branwen, forcefully entering what seems to be her chest like a cyclone. Her arms are outstretched to either side of her body, as she seems to be welcoming it with closed eyes and hair billowing. Once the last little wisp disappears, Branwen falls to one knee and opens her eyes, clutching her chest.

“Well that was unpleasant. Oh hey! I’m mostly clean.”

She stands to see Loki looking at her chest with interest. “Hey buddy, my eyes are up here.”

“That’s not-“

“I know.” With a grin Branwen lowers her cloak a little to expose her chest. Just above her cleavage is a small gem nestled snugly in the wooden eyelet. The wood itself seems fused to the skin as it spreads outward, like thin tree roots, the gold detail accompanying it like interchanging gold veins. “So, it turns out the box transforms into something that will allow easy transportation.” She pulls her cloak back up, “Oh and also a curse. That small factoid would have been nice to know, but let’s be honest, I probably still would have opened it.”

“Heh.” Loki is looking at Branwen in a strange way.

“What?”

“You’re different from other humans.”

“I should hope so.” She concludes the conversation, not allowing him to say any more as she begins walking to the exit. Loki jogs slightly to catch up.

“Why do you defend them?” He asks her, when they are side by side.

“They are my favourite toys.”

“You speak as though you are a God.”

Branwen’s eyes are still staring ahead as she smiles mysteriously, seemingly her favourite reply to any of Loki’s probing comments or questions. “If I _were_ a God, what would I be a God of?”

There is a sudden whistling noise, interrupting the conversation. Branwen’s hand shoots up and catches a miniature projectile mid-air, only millimetres from her face. Sensing Loki’s confusion she turns to him.

“Quick reflexes.”

His eyes are wide as he stares openly at her. She shrugs nonchalantly as she opens her palm, on it is a small poison blow dart. Licking the clear liquid from the tip of the needle, Branwen smacks her lips.

“Ooooh, a deadly concoction! Now, what miscreant threw that?” Eyes roaming over the different clothing stores, they come to rest on an expensive brand – one with a sale. “That one.”

“How do you know?”

“Instinct.”

Entering the boutique, Loki and Branwen stand among the droves of women looking for a bargain. One grabs the long hair of another, screaming and scratching, scrabbling for what the other has.

Loki shudders, “Women are horrifying.”

Branwen lets out a chuckle, “Not all are like that, you know.”

“You humans are so petty and materialistic.”

“I may live on Earth, but do not think for one moment, I am one of them.” Branwen mumbles, annoyed by Loki’s tone.

Turning his gaze onto her, he is about to ask her to repeat herself, but notices Branwen’s cloak tinged slightly with green, “Your thing is glowing.”

“Huh. So it is. I wondered what that pain was.” She answered casually, as if she had said nothing.

“It’s a different colour than last time.”

“How I gather it is, different sins, different colours.”

“Makes sense.”

Branwen ducks behind a display rack and pulls Loki down with her. Before he could complain, she puts a finger to her lips, telling him to hush. Peeking over the now-empty-due-to-sales shelf, they see a calm woman amongst all the chaos. Her hair is peroxide blonde and her tight pink dress matches the shade of her lipstick, shoes, and purse. The bright light that shines from a display case catches the twenty-four carat, diamond studded necklace and hoop earrings she is tackily wearing, causing them to sparkle like little prism rainbows. The woman approaches another, talking to her, swapping from ear to ear.

“Aren’t those shoes the best?”, “Wouldn’t you like to have them?”, “That bitch stole them from you. You saw them first.”

The woman whom is the target of what can only be assumed to be Envy, picks up another pair of stilettos that lay nearby, and proceeds to stab the heel into the chest of the woman holding the green shoes. The influence spreads like a virus and soon the boutique is a scene of a riot – more so than only moments before. Envy walks over to the pair of green suede high heels, picks them out of the dead woman’s hands with a smile, and walks out of the store. Ignoring the chaos, Branwen follows after Envy.

Exiting shortly after, Loki looks back to the store and grins, as he makes his way toward the sneaking Branwen. “What about those people?”

“Not my target.”

Exiting the building, Branwen raises her hood as Loki shields his eyes from the initial blast of glaring sun.

Loki hears a mumble from beside him, “Too exposed. I don’t like it.” Turning to his right, he sees Branwen sticking to the shadows, edging toward the parking lot. Seemingly uninterested, Loki ducks beneath a large umbrella of a café, and orders a cool drink.

In the parking lot, Branwen spies a silver Porsche, surrounded by sedans and hatchbacks. Placing a tracking device on the underside of the luxury car, she stealthily makes her way back to where she thinks she left her partner in crime. Spotting him at a café, she narrows her now golden eyes slightly in anger, as she sneaks up behind him.

Taking a sip of his cool beverage, he realises it is now frozen solid. He smirks.

“I do hope you are enjoying yourself. Although, if you were planning to relax, you probably should have had bathed first.” Branwen eyes his Gluttony-slime encrusted leather outfit with a sneer.

Ignoring the frustration in her tone, Loki puts down his frozen drink and indicates with a nod, “Isn’t that the charity collector from the entrance?”

Glancing directly across from where they were, the bearded, raggedy tin shaker approaches a silver Porsche, leaning in slightly and kissing the peroxide blonde woman in the front seat.

“Did… did they just kiss?” Branwen wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“That’s unusual. I’d say that would be another sin.”

Hearing a grunt and a clutter from beside him, Loki turns his head to see Branwen fall to the floor, knocking over a few chairs and clutching her chest. Gold veins spread down her uncovered left arm like poison, and disappear just as quickly as they came. The glowing near her clasp that kept the cloak fastened changes from green to yellow at a fast, flickering pace. Loki stares in wonder and curiousity even when her chest stopped moving, and his drink turned back to a liquid state.

As the Porsche drives away, Branwen’s eyes flick open, her lifeless golden retinas stared absently past the eaves of the café and into the cloudless blue sky. As if waking from near death, she draws in a large breathe of air, jolting into an upright sitting position. Her eyes change back to their natural green, tinged with purple.

“Oh good, I did hope you weren’t dead.”

“Your concern is overwhelming.” Gripping the side of the glass table where Loki sat sipping his drink, Branwen pulls herself up with shaky legs. “Okay, so… one sin at a time. Good to know.” Watching the bearded man, both Branwen and Loki sit back, enjoying the shade. Branwen now had a drink of her own, thinking she deserved it for almost dying, whilst Loki had ordered another. The man they were observing acted like a normal person would. He rattled his coin tin at every passer-by, and those that stopped…

“Alright, that’s also a little weird.” Branwen comments as a couple literally emptied their wallets into the large jar that sat on his table. Smiling, the collector hands them each a badge before they resume walking.

“Maybe they just wanted to donate?” Loki suggests, noticing it happening a few more times, “Alright, which is he?”

“I’m thinking… Greed.”

“But he’s collecting for the charity.”

After the most recent sucker had walked away, Greed picked up the over flowing jar and emptied it into his pockets – which seemed to be as much of an abyss as Gluttony’s mouth.

“Oh, is he now?”

“I stand corrected.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“No.”

“He’s slowly getting away. I suppose I should go do something.” Standing from the table, Branwen stretches and pays the waiter the bill for three drinks, before walking toward her target. Perhaps sensing the box, Greed grabs his metal tin as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, and runs. Sighing, Branwen sprints after the man with lightning speed, tackling him around the legs like a rugby player. To stop him squirming, she sits on his chest, one knee on either side, struggling to pin the moving man’s arms down. “You know, it would be a lot easier if you would just smoke so I can capture you.”

With a casual stride, Loki approaches them and looks down. “That’s an interesting pose. Is he your ‘type’?”

Throwing a sarcastic smile and an icy glare in Loki’s direction, Branwen is momentarily distracted, allowing Greed to fumble for his metal tin. Feeling the movement, Branwen quickly slams his arm into the concrete until he drops the can, causing it to fly out of his grasp and roll toward Loki.

“Pass me that tin, would you dear?”

Loki glances at the metal object and kicks it back toward Greed, adding a flippant, “Oops.”

Branwen snarls at Loki as she lifts her cloak little by little, sliding it up her right thigh. Her hand disappears momentarily, only to reappear with a razor sharp dagger.

“Well, I suppose if you won’t cooperate, I’ll have to do something drastic.”

Readjusting so she has her left knee on his left arm to keep it still as both hands work on his right, she pins down his free arm with her left hand as she slices her dagger across his wrist with her right, completely severing his hand from the joint. This in turn causes the tin to roll and Branwen to be splattered in blood. Jumping from his chest and swiping the tin in one swift movement, she runs into the café, shocking patrons, and pushes her way into the back. Turning the tin upside down, she plucks an ancient looking coin off the bottom and ignites the burner. No one argues with the blood-covered woman ruining a stovetop with a metallic object, as she melts the coin to a puddle. Screams are heard echoing throughout the street, until they stop and are replaced by a tornado hurtling toward the café. The black smoke once again enters Branwen.

Thinking he had a few seconds before she returned, Loki began to make arrangements to leave. As he was about to illusion himself, there is a voice in his ear.

“What? No goodbye?”

Turning, he comes face to face with a fist.

*

“She’s providing more entertainment than I thought,” ‘Odin’ hums to himself happily as he sits in his favourite spot to watch the pools water. He should probably be checking what is happening in his kingdom, but he is drawn back to his favourite channel – Midgard. More specifically, the quest of Branwen. He thought it probably wise to allow his cheek to heal somewhat, before venturing out again. Ordinary humans do not slice off hands, they generally find another non-violent way. He has noticed, however, that when the light catches her eyes in a certain way, they appear gold and if watching via scrying pool, there is some sort of magical interference. He is curious as to why.

*


	3. The Popular Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branwen finds 'Home Base', as Loki observes and relaxes.

The crescent moon hides behind the clouds, providing the perfect amount of cover for the figure slithering up to the mansion-like house with the silver Porsche in the driveway. Avoiding all lights, the black cloaked form reaches beneath the car to remove the tracking device she had planted earlier, and withdraws her enclosed hand. Opening it, there is a small, golden mechanical dragonfly. Fluttering its wings, it takes flight.

Raising her gaze to the flittering gold insect, she notices an old fashioned, unlit lantern hanging out of a very small window of what she assumes to be an attic. “Now that’s weird.” Refocusing her attention back to the modern abode, she picks the lock of the heavy door and slips stealthily inside.

“This should be a fairly easy stealth mission without Loki.” She whispers to herself, peeking around a corner. She sees two women and one man sitting drinking wine in the expensively decorated parlour. One of the women she knows is Envy, the other is a brunette and looks like a supermodel, with legs that look like they go all the way up. The man looks as if he is an emo or goth, his black hair shields one of his eyeliner eyes, black nails tapping on the crystal glass, a giant skull on his black shirt and black skinny jeans. He looks odd sitting next to the two high-class women.

“What is this? Home base?” There is a dull throbbing in Branwen’s chest before it elevates into a stabbing sensation and spreads down her body. Collapsing to the floor as the gem flashes from green to purple to grey, she tries to steady herself by grasping whatever is close. The small glass end table shatters spectacularly, alerting them all to the usually quiet-moving intruder in their home. 

The three circle the crippled woman kneeling on their floor. Taking prime position facing Branwen, Envy bends down and mushes Branwen’s cheeks in one of her red nailed, bony hands.

“Look at you, not a speck of strength left.”

“Maybe just a speck.” She grunts through gritted teeth, before ripping out Envy’s earrings.

*

Branwen’s eyes flutter open groggily. The first thing she notices is she is tied to a chair. The second, is that she seemed to have let her enemies capture her, and the third is how her pale alabaster skin now has golden veins pulsing underneath. The sins begin conversing with her, whilst pacing around her like circling sharks.

“So, three of the seven? Which ones am I talking to, then?”

“Why would we tell you?”

“Come now, I’m all tied up. There’s no possible way I can destroy you in my current state.”

Smiling evilly, Envy steps forward, blood dripping from her earlobes, and slaps Branwen across the face.

“A slap. Really. How pathetic.”

The man takes a step forward and cracks his knuckles.

“No, Misery… not yet.”

“Misery, huh? You aren’t from the seven… and if you aren’t from the seven…” Branwen looks toward the tall brunette with long legs, checking herself out in the mirror.

“Pride? Wait, no… not Pride.”

“Do not confuse me with my twin brother. Honestly, I am not a man as you can see from my perfectly shaped breasts!” The woman exclaims as she thrusts out her flat chest.

“You must be Vanity.”

“And we know who you are.”

“Lucky me.”

“We don’t understand why you want to hurt us…”

“…you’re just like us.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“Oh? Then how can we not influence you?”

One leans forward and caresses Branwen’s face, she turns her head in disgust and sees Loki leaning against the doorframe. He smirks.

“I like to think it’s my strong will.” Branwen replies with smarm, eyes turning back toward Vanity.

“I don’t think so. The only things we cannot toy with, are each other and- _gnrk_!”

Branwen’s eyes twinkle as her hands slide free of the rope, grasping a dagger and plunging it deep into the closest sin. “Now, now… that would be telling.”

Vanity stumbles backward, pulling out the dagger lodged in her chest. Blood drips from her slightly open mouth and the wound between her breasts.

“You bitch! That was my cutest outfit!”

Branwen chuckles as both Envy and Misery jump at her simultaneously. Ducking through the arc they create, she hastily wobbles her way toward Loki, pain and golden veins pulsing.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Since they tied you to the chair.”

“Were you hoping for some sort of payback?” Branwen laughs painstakingly as she eyes his slightly bruised cheek.

“It seems you are suffering from a curse that is worse than anything I could inflict upon you… though, it would be fun to add to it.”

“Come now Loki, don’t be sour. I didn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours, so I avoided anything important.” She could heal him, but she wasn’t going to. She wanted to keep him guessing and anyway, he deserved it.

“So what _are_ you?”

“I’m Branwen Merla.”

“I said what, not whom.”

“I’m aware.”

Zigzagging throughout the house, they are separated for a moment as Branwen makes her way out the back door.

“Garden? Perfect.” Placing a hand on the ground, she grips the dirt lightly as her eyes change to gold. The perfectly manicured garden begins to overgrow, sharp thorned climbing roses encircle the house, trapping all inside only moments after Loki bursts through the door. Playing it off as her falling down from the pain, Branwen grasps her chest as she rises from the wet grass, the gold veins recede and the changing colours from beyond her cloak, stop.

“That is strange… did you do that?” Loki asks, spotting the creeper.

“What? How could I do such a thing? It might be some sort of defence mechanism to protect the residents of the house? Regardless, I need to get back in there.”

“Are you mad?”

“A little.”

Loki smirks at her reply.

“I need to find their weakness, their virtue, and destroy them.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun.” Approaching the house, Branwen touches a leaf of the creeper and it parts, as if allowing her through. “Coincidence.” She says loudly enough for Loki to hear as she opens the door and enters the house once again.

 

Stepping onto the pristinely white marble of the floor, Loki and Branwen notice that the house is suspiciously quiet.

“Let’s split up.”

Loki nods in affirmation. Placing her hand on the railing of the stairs, Branwen begins her ascent quietly to the second floor, where she assumes the bedrooms are. Opening every door, she happens across a linen closet with a large object shoved to the back, covered with a dusty white sheet.

_‘It could be nothing…’_ shaking her head and taking a step, she feels a cold breeze touch the back of her neck. Taking a step back once again, she stares at the large object and tilts her head. Pulling on the dusty sheet, it falls freely on the floor, revealing a large ornate mirror shining beautifully. It looks as if it had been polished recently, although the layer of dust on the sheet suggests otherwise. The surface of the mirror ripples like metallic water, attempting to grab Branwen’s attention and succeeding, she leans forward to stare deep into the shining surface. What she sees is not her reflection – not exactly. It is her, yet she is wearing what she wears back home… an outfit much like her mothers, with only hints of her father’s amongst the huntresses robes.

There is a screech from behind as a shadow flies across the surface of the mirror.

“You! So it is true!”

Hearing the high-pitched noise, Branwen’s eyes shift from her reflection to that of the creature standing behind her.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realise how UGLY you are.”

Vanity roars, stretching her arms toward Branwen’s throat. Branwen spins to face her, lifting her leg and bending her knee, “I must warn you, I’m pretty clumsy around breakable objects.” She comments, kicking her heeled boot behind her. “Oops.”

Vanity’s shriek is as bloodcurdling as a banshee, as her face begins to crack like the mirror. Within moments, she shatters into a thousand pieces, black smoke gathering and forming from every minute sliver.

“One down, two to go.”

*

Returning downstairs, Branwen finds Loki lounging on the white suede sofa.

“Seriously?”

Loki glances up from his book, “you said to split up, you never told me to actually _do_ anything.”

Branwen sighs as her cheek twitches.

Hiding his smirk by lifting the book to cover his mouth, Loki indicates over his shoulder to a closed door. “However, that room is laden with spoils.”

Creeping over to the door, Branwen puts her ear to it. Hearing nothing, she cracks it open and steps inside. After quickly checking the perimeter, she surveys the interior. It is a large room, and the shelves on every wall are jam-packed with purses, handbags, shoes, jewellery, clothes, and other expensive knickknacks. In the centre of the white plush rug is a single chair, strange to be sure, but not as strange as what sat near the window.

“A plant?”

 

Loki stands from the couch after hearing a thump, and saunters into the room. He sees Branwen pinned to the floor by Misery.

“Hey! Why don’t you attack him?” Branwen yells as Loki enters the room.

“He does not concern us.” Envy replies, only briefly glancing in his direction.

“Can you feel us slowly sapping your strength? Can you feel us growing stronger?” Misery leans forward so his face is millimetres from touching Branwen’s.

 Loki’s lips twitch up in a sneer as he slightly clenches his fists that are by his side. There is the sound of a groan, causing him to widen his eyes.

“First mistake – I’m not a damsel.” Branwen’s knee had swiftly shot into the sensitive area between Misery’s spread legs. Crumpling to the floor beside her and cradling his crotch as he rocks back and forth in pain, Branwen takes this opportunity to dart toward Loki.

“How did you know that would work?” Loki asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I gave it a shot.” Branwen shrugs.

Envy spins, staring daggers at Branwen.

“Not so fast!”

She raises a hand to her, curling it slightly. Branwen gasps and collapses to the floor, gripping her chest. Her erratically thumping heartbeat is broadcast throughout the room as if being enhanced by a megaphone, golden veins once again pulsing over her skin. Branwen’s eyes shift to Loki.

“He won’t help you.”

With a shaking hand, Branwen points to the plant and yells hoarsely. “Kill it, it’s Kindness!”

Loki stares, pondering how long it will take for her to get out of the situation herself.

“Can you stop observing for just once and help?! You get to burn something, flames equal fun!”

“Watching you pleases me.”

“I’m unsure of whether you realise how that sounds.” Branwen attempts a chuckle before she completely collapses to the ground, unconscious. The sound of the echoing heartbeat stops.

“You can leave now, Loki of Asgard. She is no longer.” Envy announces as she spits near Branwen’s corpse.

A wide grin appears on Loki’s thin lips. “I think you will find, she is not.”

Envy feels a warmth spreading throughout her body. Lifting her hand once again, she sees the tips of her fingers flaking away to soot. Spinning around, she notices Loki is no longer near the door, but is now near the window, lit matches in the pot plant and more between his fingers.

“Noooo~!” Envy explodes like an imploding fireball, smoke billowing into Branwen’s body on the floor.

“She was right, that was a little satisfying.”

*

Branwen awakes to the sound of a crackling fire. Opening her eyes slowly, she sees she is in her log cabin. “How did I get home?” Staring into the lit flames of the fire pit, she thinks back to what happened before she had passed out. Her face relaxes into a kind smile, “Who knew Loki could be so… nice.”

*


	4. Just Another Modern Teenager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow moving Sin is maybe not so slow moving.  
> Loki finds out a little about his companion.

After spending the night running with wolves beneath the full moon, Branwen returns to her cabin at dawn to find Loki examining her vase.

“Oi! Get away from that!” Branwen races over and pushes him forcefully away.

“That’s no way to welcome a guest.”

“A polite guest wouldn’t be snooping!”

After ensuring the vase is still intact, Branwen drops the hunk of meat and eggs she had been carrying onto the table, and the sticks into the fire pit. She then proceeds to pick berries and fruit from the vines, bushes and tree branches in her home.

“I’m guessing you’re staying for breakfast.” Laying out the table big enough for two, she sets the now cooked eggs, fruit salad, and a small hunk of bread onto each plate. “I hope it’s enough for you.”

Loki is surprised. The last time he sat with someone to eat, was when his family was whole, and he had always been teased and forced to eat more like Thor. Branwen notices him staring at his plate.

“Is it not enough?”

“What? No, this is perfect.”

“Oh, good.” Branwen gnaws on her bread, “tough if it wasn’t. You can get your own damn food.”

_‘What a strange woman. First she flatters me, then she punches me. She’s angry, then she’s polite.’_ Loki munches on his fruit, noticing Branwen’s small smirk.

 

Finishing breakfast, they leave the cabin together. Stretching in the morning sun, Branwen squints up at the sky.

“I noticed you don’t have a bed in your home.”

“Mmm.” She opens her mouth in a large yawn. Opening her eyes, they are as clear as the day and as wide and alert as the sun above their heads. “Alrighty, next target!”

*

Entering the city, they pass a middle aged woman begging the police to do something and insisting her child is not her own.

“Could be something?”

“You don’t say.”

Approaching the two policemen, Branwen dons her most enchanting smile as she convinces them that she, and her partner, are from another department. Satisfied and glassy-eyed, the police leave, leaving the nuisance woman in her capable hands.

“How did you do that?” Loki asks, knowing he will most likely not get an answer.

True to his assumption, she winks at him with a grin before turning her attention to the weeping woman.

“Excuse me ma’am, can we help?”

“Who are you?” She inquires, apparently not hearing the previous conversation with the police.

“People who know something about something.”

“What an eloquent way of putting it.” Branwen jabs Loki in the ribs.

The woman explains about her teenage boy who locked himself in his room all day, every day playing video games.

“Sounds like a regular modern teenager.”

“You don’t understand! He was never interested in that, he wanted to be a lawyer and get into Stanford! Now all he does is lay around, not bothering to even eat!”

“Sounds like Sloth.”

“What?”

“Ma’am, where do you live?”

 

Driving them both, Loki and Branwen arrive at the woman’s house. Insisting the lady go elsewhere, she quickly departs, leaving them alone on the front stoop. Turning the key, Branwen lets out a giggle and Loki is initially surprised by the girlish sound that has slipped from his companion’s lips.

“This is the first time I haven’t picked a lock to enter a house that is not my own.”

Entering the abode, the first thing they see is a white wooden staircase leading to the second floor.

“She said he was upstairs in his room, correct?”

Climbing the stairs and opening the first door on the left, they are bombarded by an eye watering smell most foul.

“Ugh, smells like something has died in here.”

Coming to a stop, they see the boy on the computer - he doesn’t look up, or even acknowledge them as they enter his bedroom. Branwen approaches and clicks her fingers in front of his face, but he continues to play his game. Branwen shrugs at Loki. Surveying the room, she sees comic books in plastic covers, action figures in glass display cases, old candy wrappers scattered over the floor, and an old school bag on the unmade bed. Silence descends as Branwen searches the room, whilst Loki leans on the wall and watches her.

“Everybody has a story, what is yours?”

“Not much to tell. My father is a messenger for the-for _my_ people. He was also a bit of a trickster; you would’ve liked him.” She shuffles through some papers on the carpet, “I guess I got my playful nature from him. As for my huntress prowess and warrior spirit… My mother taught me.” Branwen’s hands pause, a nostalgic look flickers across her face momentarily before it is replaced with an unreadable expression.

Expecting she will not answer, or at the very least just smile mysteriously, Loki is shocked to say the least at her honest reply. He also caught the slip in her masked expression. “Did your mother and father pass?”

“…No.” Branwen moves from the carpet to the bed, “I was disowned for disobedience. To prove my worth and loyalty, I had to go on a mission… a type of pilgrimage.”

Loki tilts his head slightly, he could relate to some of her story, and he could hear the almost mechanical tone in her voice - as if talking about her home and family resets her to factory settings. _‘Let’s bring some excitement.’_ With a cunning plan in mind, he reaches down behind the desk and pulls the plug.

Spying the schoolbag once again, a thought occurred to her. The opposite of Sloth is…

Ducking just in time as a keyboard hurtles toward her head, Branwen sees Sloth turn with furious speed. His fingers fuse together like the Spock gesture, as large claws grow from where the nails become one. Dodging Sloth’s punches with lazy nimble sways, Branwen makes the mistake of diving for the bag. Taking this opportunity to attack once again, Sloth lunges and manages to slice Branwen diagonally across half her face. Branwen growls fiercely as her eyes change to gold. The blood gushing from the wound into her eyes blinds her momentarily as Sloth picks her up and throws her out the closed window, the glass smashing and falling along with her.

His attention now turns to Loki.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Branwen swaggers into the house through the front door, only to see many illusions of Loki and Sloth slicing at each, causing them to flicker and disappear. Branwen laughs with joy and bounds up the stairs, two at a time. Sloth slices the last of Loki’s illusions and follows her, just in time to see Branwen holding a thesis in one hand and a lighter in another. With an evil grin, she lights the large clump of paper, and Sloth goes up in a giant fireball accompanied by a bellowing scream. The smoke wafting off the homework enters Branwen at a leisurely pace.

“Weren’t you hurt?” Loki asks with confusion, eyeing her perfectly smooth face without any trace of blood or a scar.

“I got better.”

The cupboard door opens with a bang as a body slumps onto the floor.

“I guess we found her son.”

*


	5. The Fair Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branwen goes undercover to capture the ironically named Sin.  
> Arriving late, Loki gets an interesting surprise as things begin to turn pear-shaped.

A few nights later as the new moon is high in the sky, a black haired man in green, black, and gold leather stands staring, shifting his attention between the neon sign and the address on the piece of paper in his hand. He thinks back to the conversation he and Branwen had earlier that day.

“…I think I found her, meet me at this address tonight. And for God’s sake, don’t be late!”

Walking through the scarlet curtain that was apparently the door to the establishment, Loki enters what seems to be a different world. It is bright and colourful, many lights shine a rainbow of colours, catching the glimmering glitter on the various fabric hung around the room. Two burley men stand to either side of the front and back doors, surveying the bar and ensuring no trouble be made. The dark maroon plush carpet is surprisingly clean, as people sit on it and chat up the passing dancers. Even the alcohol in the establishment seemed colourful and plentiful in the many different shaped bottles on the shelves behind the bar. The main focus was the large stage, he concluded, judging by the vast number of tables and chairs surrounding it, pointing in the direction for a good view. Many people had taken their seats and tables already, waiting for the entertainment to begin.

“Oh.” his initial surprise turns to that of an uninterested nature. As he takes a seat to the back of the room, he orders a drink from a passing serving girl whom winked at him.

  _‘Where is she?’_ Rather than worried, he begins to feel frustrated about her wasting his time, but is calmed a moment later as the fruity liquid from his cocktail trickles down the back of his throat. The house lights dim and the stage is lit, as a booming voice echoes from the speakers – introducing the next dancer.

The large red satin curtains part to reveal big feather fans covering the person standing there. Loki glances up with an uninterested yawn, but upon spotting the overly large raven feathers, he shuts his mouth immediately. It cannot be who he thinks, _surely_. Swallowing, he leans forward slightly in his seat. The music begins to play a tantalising tease, signalling the beginning of the dance. The feathers wiggle as the woman behind starts moving them, only showing small glimpses of her body at a time. With a final flourish, she snaps the fans shut, exposing the dancer in the centre. Loki’s eyes widen with the rest of the men, but for a different reason, as he spots his companion on the stage.

Her high ponytail gave her an athletic look, as it kept the hair away from her long neck and smooth features. The feathers she had in her hair were still positioned behind her ears, as her silver chain, crescent moon earring glistened in the spotlight. Her makeup was different, however, as it now resembled war paint rather than eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick. Her eyes were still green and purple, yet they had more of a lascivious glint to them, as she tilted her head down and looked at the crowd through her eyelashes. Her grin was much the same one she showed him on many occasions, but in this setting, he felt as if it were different. His eyes travelled down her body, curious as to her chest with the gem. The top she was donning was nothing but feathers cupping her breasts, exposing chest and disappearing into the cincher, only barely covering the gem nestled in her cleavage. Her arms carry golden bangles and armbands, giving her the appearance of some exotic wonder, inclusive of a golden snake that was painted up the length of her left thigh. Her skirt – if you could call it that – was nothing more than bunched material, the back of the bustle draping on the floor, being held around her waist by a golden chain. Her shoes were golden knee-high laced sandals, which secretly made her laugh, as this is what she would wear back home if going to a formal function. If it were not from the silkiness of the outfit and the smoothness of her hair, she would look wild, like a barbarian or a tribeswoman.

Swaying her hips sensually, Branwen twirls her hands above her head. With a tug of the leather cord and a small shake of her head, her hair is released, allowing it to fall freely and silkily over her face and down her shoulders like an obsidian waterfall.

“Woah. Who would have thought that is what she keeps hidden beneath her cloak.” Loki realises he is staring much like the other louts, and looks away with a clearing of his throat. Although despite being in the shadows at the back, Branwen still notices and smirks.

It was described to her before they would hire, that all potential girls must have something they can showcase. She couldn’t think of a way bows could be sexy unless you put them between your legs – which she refused to do – so, she decided the next best thing.

The music picks up speed as she brandishes her feathered fans once more. With one vigorous shake, they are now a fan of sharpened daggers. Swinging them wildly through the air and around her body with spins and twirls, she throws them and catches them, displaying her skill, grace, and dexterous ability. With one last high throw, the fans separate into several daggers, pointing at the ground as they fall. As all eyes are on them, Branwen slips off stage, causing the daggers to land on nothing but the wooden floorboards, digging deep and splitting the wood. With a cheer, the curtains close once again.

With mere seconds passing after the daggers were thrown, Loki feels someone collapse on the couch beside him. Turning to tell the newcomer he is not interested, he comes face to face with Branwen. Once again in her cloak, looking like normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

“That was… unexpected.”

“I was undercover. You certainly took your time, I had to dance.” She shudders. “It was horrible.”

“I thought it was quite entertaining.”

Branwen cocks an eyebrow, “Oh, really? Do tell.”

Loki ignores her teasing, “So, why am I here?”

“Bait, mostly.”

“The book said only humanity can be influenced by the seven.”

“Maybe, but you’re attractive, so sit down and shut up.”

“Heaven forbid that I get in the way of a perfectly executed plan.”

“Snrk” Branwen muffles a laugh. Feeling pain she quickly covers her chest with one of her hands. Loki now knows this is the sign of a nearby sin.

A woman dressed in white approaches them both. “Fair Raven why are you out of your outfit- why hello there, handsome. My name is Chastity.” Running her hand down the chest of Loki seductively, she slightly narrows her eyes in realisation. Turning around, she grabs Branwen’s arm and hauls her up. “Fair Raven, you are terrible at entertaining clientele! This man looks positively bored!”

“I’m sorry sir, are you bored?” Branwen smirks at Loki, before the grip on her arm tightens.

Without waiting for a reply, Chastity begins dragging Branwen toward the back of the stage. “Why don’t I give you a lesson in the back room?”

 

Throwing Branwen into the dressing room, she quickly locks the door. She smiles lustfully as she pushes Branwen onto the small single bed they have in the corner, for the girls to nap on if they were tired. “I know you are both hunting me. Let’s see if I can somehow remedy that, hm?”

*

Loki taps his foot impatiently as the minutes tick by. He has neither heard any screams, nor seen anything out of the ordinary, such as the black smoke.

 _‘I’m not worried_ _; I’m annoyed she is taking so long.’_ He convinces himself as stands from his seat and makes his way toward the backroom. The large bouncers stop him.

“Dancers only.” They gruffly say, as they step in front of him, blocking the entrance.

Ducking behind a pillar, Loki casts an illusion on himself. Disguised as a serving girl, he enters the back room, winking to the guards as he passes them. Jiggling the knob, he finds the door is locked and begins to pace impatiently. He gets a sudden brainwave, why doesn’t he just knock? Although seemingly stupid, he raps lightly with his knuckles on the flaking white panelled door. It swings open easily, yet with a creepy creak, revealing several vanity mirrors with lights, makeup and wigs on the tables in front, various outfits on the racks in the middle, and many props contained in boxes and leaning on anything they can lean on. Pushing past all this clutter, he sees the darkened area toward the very back and steps toward it.

Branwen is sitting on the bed once again without her cloak and in her burlesque outfit, staring vacantly.

“Ah, the exotic knife thrower.”

Branwen does not reply as she continues to stare blankly without blinking.

Sensing something amiss, Loki looks around the empty room once again. “Branwen, where is she?”

Hearing her name, she blinks slowly. “Taken care of.”

Standing from the bed, Branwen crosses the short space toward him. Loki notices her eyes and takes a retreating step, forgetting how quickly she can move. Pouncing like a feline, Branwen pushes him to the wall and grins wickedly like she did on stage. The light from one of the mirror bulbs catches the white of her teeth, making them glisten like fangs. The hair falling over her face in waves gives her an animalistic appearance, as her eyes sharpen like a predator whom has caught their prey.

“So you ARE human.”

“I never said I wasn’t.” Branwen leans in and Loki twirls out of the way. “Oh? I always did like playing with my food.” she laughs with glee as she circles him, much like a tigress pacing its cage.

“This is Lust.”

“I know.”

Loki ducks just as she pounces. She stands from landing on all fours and begins pacing once again.

“Think! Lust as in the sins you were hunting.”

Branwen stops mid step, “Hunting…” There is a moment of clarity before Branwen shakes her head. “I think… thou protests too much.”

Grasping the back of his head and entwining her fingers in his long black hair, she pulls him forward, crashing her lips to his in a fiercely passionate kiss. They stumble as Branwen pulls on his leather, whilst keeping their lips locked. Bumping clumsily into one of the tables, there is the sound of shattering glass as an odour pierces Branwen’s nostrils. Her eyes shoot open with complete clarity as she jumps away from Loki. His breath comes out heated when they break, as he slowly opens his eyes.

Turning her back to him, she commences a coughing fit, choking on the strength of the perfumed smell.

“Who wears this stuff?! Open the window or something!”

*


	6. Two in One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solo mission for Branwen

Sitting on his throne, ‘Odin’ reminisces about the recent adventure he had had with Branwen. He remembered the dance, the back room, and even the uncomfortable silence that followed as they exited the establishment. Whether their shared silences were awkward or uncomfortable on her side, he did not know. He does not understand why he felt angry when Misery almost kissed Branwen or why he almost yielded to her when she was under the influence of Lust, or even why he keeps picturing the look she gave him when she had him against the wall, all he knows is that he needs to refocus, he needs to be Odin, and he needs to rule.

‘ _Are these romantic feelings?’_ Shaking his head almost as immediate as that thought appeared, he dismisses it. He is not his brother, he has no interest in humans… but as a precaution he decides it’s probably best if he does not see her for a while - even in the scrying pool.

*

 “Maybe I pushed it too far...” Branwen chuckles with amusement as she also thinks back on that night. She has not seen Loki for almost a week now, and is running out of tricks to play on the humans. “I suppose I should get back to hunting the sins, before they grow any stronger.”

 

Walking through town, Branwen yawns and stretches. “Hmmm which sins are left?” Deep in thought, she passes police tape and news crew, not paying much attention.

“…and this is the fifth suicide this month. Is it something in the water, or a serial killer? So far, the police believe they are all accidents…”

“…many believe these sad people were calling for help…”

“…more at six o’clock.”

 

Catching small snippets, Branwen tunes back into the world around her, “Misery? That’s right, he got away.” Spying a hoodied figure leaning on the lamppost not that far away, Branwen matches the grin of that on her opponents face, “speak of the devil.”

Perhaps sensing the box much like Greed did, the hooded man’s face flickers with panic before he takes off in a sprint. Weaving through the crowd, Branwen is right on his tail before he turns sharply down an alley and into a store. Ducking into the building to pursue him, she comes face to face with many black haired, eye lined, corseted patrons.

“They all look the same!” she laughs in amusement, “how curious.”

Dashing past once again, she exits the backdoor and briefly pauses, having encountered a large group of humans who looked much like those inside. Misery is in the centre. The group step in front to block and surround him, to protect him.

“I guess Misery really does love company.” With but a wave of her arm, men and women are flung to the asphalt, leaving a huddling figure in the middle of whence they once stood.

“Please, I’m just a call centre employee!” He cries, curled in the foetal position.

“What call centre?”

“A hotline! A suicide hotline!”

“…seriously?”

Misery suddenly stops snivelling and grins, teeth gleaming like fangs. “I’m stronger now, I am no longer just Misery, I am now also Fear. Let’s see, what is yours?”

Branwen begins to spew water. Amongst all the coughing, she manages to gasp a few words “Drowning? Please... Pathetic... I think you have your sensing wires...c-crossed there, buddy-”

“If not that…”

Branwen takes one step toward the edge, and then another. Standing on the now empty bridge, being compelled to jump, she laughs. “You really don’t know anything about me, do you?”

“Even if you somehow survive, I have nothing to destroy. You cannot kill and collect me.”

Branwen’s gentle, hushed chuckle escalates to a psychotic laughter.

“You are standing on the edge of your death, no one is here to save you, yet you laugh? Why?”

Raising a leg about to take her final step, Branwen turns to him with a grin, “Thanks for the hint.”

*

As the raven lands on the manicured lawn outside of Envy estate, it changes shape to that of a black fox. Its golden eyes twinkle as they stare up at the Victorian-styled lantern hanging high above the ground on the third story. The silver chained, crescent moon earring glistens and swings slightly from its large, white-tipped ear. Its back leg rises as it scratches at a small gem nestled in a wooden eyelet, golden veins and wooden roots wrapping around like a collar. Slowly climbing the rose creeper previously summoned the night Envy and Vanity were collected, the vixen reached the attic and jumped through the open window into shadow.

The dark silhouette being cloaked by shadow stretches and lengthens, changing its shape from four legs to two. Without needing her eyes to readjust to the darkness of the room, Branwen walks toward the free hanging lantern and opens the glass panelling to access the candle.

Bursting through the attics manhole, Misery laughs fanatically as he points to the lantern. “I told you, if you destroy that, you do not destroy me!”

Branwen unhooks the lantern from the pole it was suspended on, “And I told _you_ – you gave me a hint.”

Misery’s smile instantly drops as she flicks open her zippo. As the wick catches fire, the room explodes in a flash of light, dispelling the black smoke from around Misery and into the chest of Branwen

“Huh. Lucky I didn’t physically hurt him. That poor sap was only being leeched off of.”

 

Returning home, Branwen leans back on her lounge and begins talking to herself.

“If Loki were there, it would have been a lot more troublesome…” A silence descends as crickets chirp, “…and a lot more fun.”

*


	7. The Vampire and The Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is confused by the strange Midgardian Custom of Halloween, and Branwen shows a snippet of just what sort of power she holds.

Several tedious normal days pass, and Loki finds himself scrying upon Branwen for an update of her actions, yet he is unable to find her. The streets are lined with pumpkins and skeletons, zombies and ghouls - decorations of every kind. Curious about what has happened upon Midgard, Loki decides to investigate.

*

Exiting through one of the backdoors of Asgard, Loki appears on a street lined with decorations and lit lanterns. The moon rises slowly as the street lamps flicker on.

“I’m so excited for tonight!” A passer-by exclaims to her friend as they skip past him, giggling.

He raises an eyebrow as he witnesses young mortals ring the doorbell of a nearby house.

“Trick or treat!”

The old lady whom answers hands them candy and wishes them a happy Halloween. After observing for some time, Loki decides to ask someone what is happening. Knowing he can be much more influential on a woman, he searches for one who is alone and, spying a skirt and heels in front of him, he approaches the woman from behind.

“You there, what is this ‘Halloween’?” Twirling the woman around he sees a face he recognises.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Branwen smirks.

Loki is once again taken aback by her wearing an outfit which seems to be far from her normal attire – that being a cloak. What she actually wears under it he does not know, but he is sure it is not what she is currently donning.

Her bright orange and black striped knee-high socks were the first things he noticed, beside the very large pointed hat on her head, obviously not suitable for someone as stealthy as she. This inconsistency continued as the buckles on her curled-toed boots sparkle, chiming softly each time she took a step. Her outfit was black – per normal - yet with a short skirted bustle, non-constrictive so possibly not that out of the ordinary. The laced bodice also surprised him slightly, as that _is_ constrictive, yet she seems to be breathing as if wearing this is natural, her movement also non impeding. The bolero that seemed connected to the bustier was long sleeved and tight fitting, flaring at the wrist and covering her hands - an obvious disadvantage for any weapon you may like to wield.

Her darkly made-up eyes stare into his as he critiques her outfit in his head. Seeing her exposed chest, he asks the question which immediately pops into his mind.

“You can show the gem?”

“People will just think it’s makeup. Oh! Speaking of, you cannot go around dressed like that.”

“What is wrong with my current attire?”

“You need a costume. I’m thinking… vampire.” Dragging him behind her, they search front stoops until they find a set of kids, a costume vampire amongst them. “There, illusion into that… except your size, and with your own flare.”

Loki shimmers as he changes to that of his costume. Branwen nods with approval.

“I knew it’d suit you.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Our costumes somewhat reflect us, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“What indeed...” She answers cryptically.

Walking side by side, Loki is painfully aware of her presence as a small silence descends.

“You know, I haven’t seen any sins around since you left.”

“What you actually mean to say is, you weren’t looking.”

Branwen laughs in reply, neither admitting nor denying the fact. Seeing a large crowd ahead, she halts.

“I wonder what that’s about.”

Moving closer, they spy an impressively decorated house, looking like something from a horror movie. A camera crew interviews the tall man on the front porch.

“Mister Mayor, it seems you have gone all-out for Halloween this year, yet previous years you publically announced your belief that Halloween should be cancelled. What has caused this miraculous turn around?”

“Well Tanya, due to recent events I feel as if I have been set free from a cage. This in turn has made me focus on the important things - namely myself - and wanting you, the public, to experience some of the horrors of what it is like in Hell.” The Mayors smile turns to one of darkness and evil intent as he continues, “So, for one night only, I open my house up to the public to experience my horror house.”

There are cheers from the crowd. The news reporter continues, “I see. Everyone seems to be in awe of your decorations-“

“Of course, I have the best house in the neighbourhood - nay, the city, if not the world.”

Loki cocks an eyebrow.

“Other than the pain and glowing of the gem, he really does look like Vanity’s twin. But seriously, how can they not think what he said was a little bit odd?” Branwen mumbles beside Loki, listening to snippets of chattering amongst the crowd.

“Hey, hey. Did you hear about the party the Mayor is throwing in the cemetery?”

“I heard it’s going to be in a mausoleum!”

“Ooooh, scary!”

“Bro, it’ll be THE Halloween party to go to, the one to been seen at!”

“Exciting!~”

“I heard something will happen at midnight!”

 

“That’s not sus at all.” Branwen comments sardonically as she removes herself from the crowd, “so, do we go to the party, or investigate the house?”

“Hm.” Loki places his hand on his chin, deep in thought.

“Heh.”

“What?” His green eyes stare into hers, shifting from the spot on the ground he was staring so intently at.

“Nothing.”

“You laughed.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh? Then what’s with that grin?”

“You’re thinking so seriously about this, it’s cute.”

“C-cute?! I just thought I’d help out, that’s all! If you don’t want my input then…” _‘What has gotten into me?! All this from a tiny offhand comment? Come on! You’re a God, she’s a human. Get it under control!’_

“No, no. I appreciate it. Thanks.”

_‘She’s acting normal. Maybe she didn’t notice any change in my behaviour.’_

“So, where to? What do you think?”

“Well, if he’ll be at the party, he won’t be at the house. We could search for his virtue.”

“Assuming he doesn’t have it on him. Alright, that’s the plan.”

“He also said his house will be Hell. I am curious as to what this entails.”

*

Loki and Branwen await in the cemetery. Seeing the Mayor enter the crypt with armfuls of party supplies and a box of what they assume to be ritual ingredients, they slip off to his house.

“We only have a few hours before midnight, let’s hurry.”

Jack-o-lanterns light the cobbled stone path up to the front stoop and past the erected fake graveyard in the front yard, even though the cemetery is at the end of the street. Zombie hands protrude from in front of the tombstones, as a thick fog hangs heavy from the fog machine cleverly disguised as a bush. Horror mood lighting casts eerie shadows across the garden and onto the large tree with a skeleton hanging from a rope noose. The front door is open as the Mayor announced earlier, as if an open invitation for her and Loki to snoop. The door itself looked as if the wood had been hacked at with an axe, as the damaging tool was still firmly lodged in the frame, white woodchips strewn over the ground.

Welcoming them next to the door, is a large, hooded, Grim Reaper accompanied by a small mound of headless children. Striding forward, Loki is the first to approach, only to be narrowly missed by the scythe that swung down.

“Huh, must be some sort of motion senor. Neat.”

“Neat? I almost lost my head.”

“Oh come on, it’s just plastic!” Branwen approaches the scythe and runs her finger across the blade. Crimson liquid pools from the deep cut and streams down her fingers, “Okay, maybe not...” She pulls her sleeve down to cover her hand as a pale white light briefly shines from the wound. Pulling Loki quickly through the entrance, they stagger into cobwebs and grey material suspended from the roof.

“This looks less like a haunted house, and more like an abandoned one.”

Brushing off the cobwebs that clung to their clothes, they casually begin to stroll throughout the house.

“Upstairs first, or downstairs?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Just making conversation.” Branwen shrugs nonchalantly.

A sarcophagus slowly opens behind Branwen as linen wrapped hands slide scratchily around her throat. Pulling her out of harms way, Loki replaces her head with that of a nearby large, solid, marble bust.

“Why didn’t you dodge that?”

She shrugs again, “It’s just robotic. No real danger.” The bust shatters. Branwen raises an eyebrow.

“These earthly customs disturb me. They don’t seem to serve any purpose.”

“It’s to scare people.”

“They aren’t very elaborate.”

“I think they’re plenty elaborate.” There is a pause as Branwen peers up at Loki’s face. He appears to be sweating lightly, with a slight look of unease on his face.

“Wait, is the God of Trickery and Mischief afraid?” Branwen taunts with a smirk.

“Don’t be absurd, a mighty God is afraid of no such thing.”

Branwen snorts, trying to contain the laughter that is threatening to escape. She fails.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing… just… if you were human, I’d have wondered if Pride had influenced you already.” She manages between guffaws, holding her sides.

“Hmph.”

“Aw, you’re so adorable when you pout!” Branwen pinches his cheek. Loki slaps her hand away. Her smile vanishes and her eyes widen ever so slightly, he never acted like _that_ before. Usually going along with all her teasing, he realises he has done something that may provoke unwanted questions.

‘ _Here it comes.’_ He thinks as he holds his breath. However, she simply turns her back to him and continues to search the house. They search separate rooms in silence, stepping over the obvious traps and pitfalls. The tension is broken when Branwen hears a yelp and spies Loki’s reflection in the hallway mirror, holding up one of the many plastic spiders that had jumped out from the drawer he opened in the kitchen. “What pathetic attempt of trickery is this?”

Branwen enters the tiled area with a snigger, “Loki… I saw you jump.”

“It was but a farce. There is no way I would be scared of such a minute object.”

Branwen’s eyes flick up briefly to the ceiling, then back to his defiant face, “Maybe…” her grin widens as she holds up a finger, as if telling him to wait for what she says next, “…but mine are so much bigger.” With a flash of her golden eyes, the large furry spiders fall from the webs above Loki’s head, as a tiny squeal escapes his throat.

Branwen roars with laughter.

“You dare laugh at a God?!”

“Yes.”

Loki finds he is also chuckling, despite himself. Watching her wipe the tears from her eyes, he decides to make a suggestion. “As we have finished on the ground floor, do you want to search upstairs?”

“Well, that is the most logical reasoning. Oh, doesn’t this place have a basement?”

Loki really wants to see her scared - he wants to get back at her, like she got him. Scheming in his mind yet not letting it show on his face, he insists they search upstairs together.

“Alright. I guess it does make more sense to search together upstairs, more likely something up there. Plus the basement is probably just a dungeon – going by his decorations thus far.”

“Great.” Loki is the first to dart upstairs, hiding his growing grin from his companion. He knows his illusions don’t work on her, so he has to think of something else. Stepping through the first doorway on the right, he sees large rodents gnawing on something in the corner. _‘Perfect’_ he thinks as he waits for her to turn the corner.

“Ah! Rats!” Branwen squeals in his ear, grabbing his arm.

_‘Ignore her arm on yours. You are trying to prank her. Pay attention.’_

“They’re so cute!” She squeezes his arm slightly before letting it go.

Loki blinks a few times, confused by her reaction and the fact that she is now trying to call them over like a cat. Still feeling the heat of her touch on his arm, he rubs it lightly.

“Did I hurt you, princess?” He hears a snigger by his ear. Spinning, he sees Branwen once again smirking at him.

 _‘Again? Next time I’ll get her. I just need to concentrate.’_ “So, you like rats? That’s odd for a woman.”

“Thanks. I am an odd woman.” She winks. Stamping her foot, the rats scuttle from what they had been feasting on, revealing a-

“Is that a real body?”

“By the looks of it.”

“Hu-uh.”

Casually they exit the room and enter the next.

“I LIKE this room!” Branwen exclaims, face lighting up with joy. The room is decorated by a murder of crows, ivy wallpaper that seems to move, and even a small stream.

“How is that possible?”

“Who cares!” taking but one step into the room, the vines shoot from the wallpaper and grasp Branwen’s wrists, ankles and neck, dragging her backward and pinning her to the wall. She grins, “Alright!”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

They begin to constrict, tightening and cutting into her skin as the birds gather on the ground in front of her and land atop of her head and shoulders.

“Did you want me to do something, or…?”

“Nope, I’m good! Oh, you could do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Can you get me some wine?”

Loki is bewildered, “…wine?”

“Yes, wine.”

He is speechless.

“Red would be great, thanks.”

“Right…” He throws her a strange look before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. Hovering his foot over the threshold, he remembers he had already searched the kitchen and there was absolutely nothing in there, not even tins. Although he believed something was amiss, he yielded to her request – now regretting that he did so.

Now at the top of the stairs, he arrives at the door moments before it slams, but not before catching a glimpse of Branwen’s head hanging low, blood dripping from her lips as they move – as if chanting or communicating with the birds that circle and hover near her. The ravens on her head draw back her hair slightly, in a preening motion, allowing Loki to see her eyes. They flash gold as thorns sprout from the ivy and pierce her neck and wrists, a river of blood gushing from her main arteries.

Silence follows, as a small river of diluted crimson liquid seeps beneath the door. Loki’s chest tightens as he bangs feverishly against the white-painted wood. The door swings open to reveal a normal-looking room with a black cloaked, bloodied corpse lying limp on the floor. He rushes forward and cradles the onyx-haired head in his hands, blood staining his leather attire.

“No…” Loki feels the heat behind his eyes as tears threaten to spill over, before the sadness he feels is suddenly replaced by a stabbing pain in his neck. Grasping the lifeless body protectively, he turns his head in rage to see Branwen standing pressed against him, slapping his cheek lightly as she peers into his face with concern. Confused, he glances down at his hands - noticing nothing out of the ordinary, his eyes sharpen as clarity washes over him.

“Welcome back.”

“What was that?”

“Nightmare-invoking poison from a well-hidden dart trap. What did you see?”

Ignoring her question and the overwhelming urge to pull her into an embrace, he changes the subject. “How did it affect a God?”

“Specially designed. Probably because you killed Envy.”

“Does it affect humans? Did it get you?”

“I ducked then disabled it. What did you see?”

“Ah…” Loki clears his throat, “…there’s only an hour left until midnight and what I can only assume to be a slaughter in the crypt, we should find his virtue.”

“Loki would rather save humans than tell me his nightmare? My, my, how interesting!” A silence descends. “What? No backlash comment? No smart rebuke? Wow, it must’ve been something horrific. Glad I didn’t see it.”

Loki sheds a half-hearted smirk, “Branwen, ever think this place is trying to kill you?”

“Psh. A place like this couldn’t kill me… Did you just… I think that’s the first time you have ever called me by my name.”

“It wasn’t the first.”

“Oh? When was it?”

Loki falls silent once again, wondering how to broach the subject.

“Wow, don’t strain yourself.” Branwen laughs lightly, not sensing – or perhaps not caring – about his predicament. Humming the tune from the burlesque bar, she walks out of the room.

Striding casually along the carpeted hall, they approach the next door. Feeling pain in her chest, Branwen looks down at her glowing purple gem.

“Hello, what do we have here?” Taking yet another step toward the door on the left, it dims. She turns to her right, facing the corridor directly again, it glows bright. “Let’s play hot, hot, cold.”

“What’s that?”

“A game.”

“You want to play a game with only 30 minutes to midnight?”

“Well, sure. Best time to play when the stakes are high.”

Loki cocks an eyebrow.

“Okay, what happens is, when the gem glows brighter, it means that our object is closer and in that direction. When it dims, that means we are getting further away. Get it?”

“Do I have to keep staring at your chest for this?” Loki asks as he looks away.

“Yes.” Branwen leers, pushing her chest out more in an attempt to fluster him. Loki keeps his cool. “Bah, you’re no fun.”

Playing the game and scanning every door with the gem, they reach the end of the corridor and the last door on the right. After the count of three, Branwen opens it with a bang. Finding a rather normal room compared to the ones they had encountered previously, they sigh with relief. There are no decorations, just an ordinary trophy room, shiny golden trophies sparkling in the display cases that lined the walls.

“Right, if I were a virtue, where and what would I look like?” Branwen eyes the room. “Okay, there’s only one suspicious wooden cabinet, a desk, a seat, and a gazillion trophy cases. It’s obviously not the trophy cases… it has to be the suspicious. Pride could be thinking that we won’t check in there, because it’s too obvious. So, we check in there BECAUSE it’s obvious. Then again, he could think that we think that he thinks about that possibility, so he did actually hide it.”

“Can we just open it?”

“Sure, but there is a 50/50 chance that it is booby trapped.”

“Fine by me. You get that side; I’ll get this one.”

Each grasping a knob, they pull open the ebony wooden cabinet swiftly. They both scream and grip onto each other at the initial shock of the large, porcelain clown mask bobbing on a spring.

“Who DOES that?!”

“Someone whom wants to deter us or thieves, perhaps?”

Branwen shudders in his arms, “I freaking HATE clowns.” She mumbles as she grips the leather on his chest tightly.

Loki laughs upon finally seeing her scared for the first time, before noticing their proximity and the embrace they seem to be in. “Are we not going to talk about this?” He asks, staring at her face and becoming painfully aware of the position of his arms and hands encircling her back.

“About what?” She turns her head, looking into his eyes at close distance.

“How you were going to bed me.”

Branwen widens her eyes momentarily before shoving him away. “Come on, don’t make things weird. You said it yourself, I was under the influence.”

“Perhaps.”

Branwen looks at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, “You think otherwise?”

“I do.”

She leans back against the large ebony wood desk in the centre of the room, smirking as if challenging him, “Prove it.”

Loki swallows. What does he do in this situation? Is she serious? If he makes a move, would she punch him again? Or worse? Should he approach her and call her bluff?

Branwen jumps onto the desk, legs dangling over the edge, and tilts her head with an unreadable expression.

“Is it really time for that?”

“What’s wrong, Loki? Are you chicken?” She laughs gleefully, words obviously attempting to goad him.

He scoffs, “That may work on my brother, but not I.”

“Hah, are you hinting that you want to set me up with your brother? Because he has a thing for humans? I changed my mind… humans aren’t my favourite toy. You are.”

The hands by Loki’s side clench slightly, along with his jaw.

“Ohhh, what’s this?”

“Silence.”

“I saw that.” Branwen keeps the tone, replacing her teasing grin with a smug one.

“I said silence!” Loki growls in annoyance, his voice lowing an octave but raising in a shout. Without realising what is happening, he finds himself approaching her with a fast stride and pinning her to the table, hovering above her.

The clock begins to strike midnight.

“Oh, times up. Pity. I really wanted to see what would happen next.” Branwen’s eyes twinkle with mischief, still continuing to smirk up at him as her hair and cloak are splayed across the desk. “Alright, playtime is over, you can get off me now.”

Loki doesn’t move, his anger apparent on his face as his hands press hers painfully to the table, his hot breath tickling her neck. “I am nobody’s _plaything_!” He screams into her face, disguising his jealousy as irrational ire and slamming one of his fists into the table next to her head.

Branwen jumps slightly and gasps at this surprising and undiscovered side of him. She did not count on this… then again, he is technically a Frost Giant.

The clock above the door chimes the tenth chime.

Glancing around in a slight panic for the virtue, she sees a white porcelain ‘World’s Best Mayor’ mug on the desk she is held captive against. Knowing what she has to do, she apologises.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures…” her green eyes soften and smile at Loki kindly, causing him to falter and waver. “I’m sorry Loki.”

He watches as her retinas become engulfed by gold, before he is pushed away with enormous force and is hurtled across the room with blinding speed, colliding with one of the glass cabinets on the wall. He crumples to the ground, cut and bruised and accompanied by a multitude of glass shards. He has enough strength to lift his head and look at her, but no more.

The room resembles that of an explosion. The trophies are broken and scattered over the floor, the cases are shattered, the desk and chair is nothing but wood chips, the window is shattered, and even the curtains are torn. Branwen is standing eerily quiet in the centre of it all, a reddish-black mist floating around her – only a grin visible in the large wisp behind her. Loki knows that grin. It’s the one he saw in the tavern.

The twelfth chime ricochets throughout the tranquil house, signalling the start of a new day and the end of Pride.

*


	8. The End?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run high as the last Sin is closing in.

“I’m surprised you didn’t call for my brother.” Loki mumbles into his glass as he sips his freshly made juice.

Branwen looks at him curiously as she casually takes a seat beside him on the chez lounge. “Why would I do that? I thought you have had enough time in prison.”

Loki turns his head to study her face. How did she know about that? Only those in Asgard, and Jane knew.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I may get the wrong idea.” With a neutral expression, she looks into the fire before them and strokes her glass with a thumb, only a minute grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Knowing that she is only joking, Loki lets a chuckle slip. “Heh.”

“Oh, you think I’m joking? What if I wasn’t?” She stares into his eyes with a serious expression. After a lengthy pause, she burst out laughing. “Oh man, I didn’t know how long I could hold that for!”

Loki grunts in annoyance as he rolls his eyes, not giving any inclination that his heart had flipped at the seriousness and heat in her gaze.

“Haaaah...” Branwen sighs as she finishes her bout of insane laughter.

“It wasn’t _that_ funny.”

“It was.” she giggles once again as she encircles her slender arm around his shoulder, “So, pretty boy, care to come hunting – or would you prefer to return to whence you came?”

“P-Pretty boy?!” Loki cocks an eyebrow as he swallows hard and clears his throat. “I’m not a blasted parrot!”

This prompts Branwen to laugh again. Loki shakes his head with exasperation as he slips from her touch smoothly.

“Anyway, down to business…” Branwen continues as she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes, “The last sin, and the first I saw, is Wrath.”

“I’ve seen him.”

“Where?”

Loki realises what he has said and feels a cold sweat trickle down his spine. He can’t let her know that it was he whom was in the bar with her. _‘How do I fix this… oh.’_ Remembering what he has witnessed only moments before, he opens his mouth to speak, “Our last fight, there was a sort of reddish mist behind you, grinning with malice and large pointed teeth.” _‘Will she buy that? Will she believe me?’_

Branwen’s face is that of surprise and guilt. “I didn’t think you would see him, I thought you were knocked out. He’s, uh, he’s sort of been following me.”

“You didn’t think to mention that?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not imp-“ Loki rubs between his eyes with frustration.

“Whenever I attempt to hunt him, he distances himself and makes it difficult for me to catch, just out of arms reach. Also, from what I’ve seen, he is pure misty smoke stuff… he has no physical virtue like the others.”

“I guess this would explain all the chaos that follows you.”

“Have you _met_ me? Seriously.”

“Heh.”

“I guess I’ll need a plan and a little patience-oh, you bastard!”

Loki is confused by the sudden outburst.

“Ahahaha…” Branwen rubs the back of her neck in embarrassment. “Well, that’s typical.”

“What?”

“The last test, the last thing you need to do to seal the box… it’s for me. I was too impatient and I yielded to boredom, freeing the demons from within their cage. So, the way to defeat it is by doing nothing. No hunting. Humans don’t need a reason to kill each other, it only brings it out within the individual – I just need to ignore it, no matter how much it taunts me.”

“You? Not hunting? That’d be a first.”

Branwen groans. “I knooooowww, it’s going to be sooo difficult!” She whines as she flops dramatically across one arm of the couch. “Oh!” She sits up suddenly. “That would explain why it was so close before Halloween.”

“Ah, so I _was_ right!”

“Well, la dee da mister ‘let’s-slum-it-with-the-humans-even-though-I’m-a-God-and-can-be-ruling-elsewhere.’”

“That wasn’t childish at all.”

Branwen pokes her tongue out in retaliation.

“Seriously though, if I’m correct… which I generally am…”

“Snrk.”

Branwen sends a playful glare at Loki as he snorts a laugh.

“…As I was saying, it should return on its own accord if I do nothing. The more I try to do, the more it’ll influence others and if I interfere, it will just take longer.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Fairly.”

“Well that’s comforting, given the fact you seem to be slowly dying.”

“Er…” _‘How does he know about that?’_ She wonders as her eyes glide across her own body subtly – or so she thinks.

“I can see the veins spreading and pulsing across your neck like gold poison.”

“Oh.”

“I cannot let an invalid wait alone. I shall stay here and help you pass the time.”

Branwen wiggles her eyebrows.

“…Not in that way.” _‘Though truth be told, that thought may have crossed my mind once or twice.’_

 

A few hours pass before Branwen feels the pain of a thousand razorblades slicing into her flesh, starting from where the gem is nestled and spreading outward. Subtly finding a reflective surface, she sees the golden veins are now pulsing up her neck and onto her jaw. Biting her lip, she pulls the cord from her hair, allowing it to fall freely to provide cover for her not-really-so-secret, secret. Taking a seat on the pile of pillows across from the chez lounge, she commences a staring competition with the green-leathered cover of Loki’s book.

“You’ve been staring at me for a while now. What is it?”

“Aren’t you bored?”

Loki places the book down on the seat next to him, “Why do you ask?”

“Do you enjoy answering a question with a question?”

“Do you?”

There is a small silence as both of them grin at each other playfully over the flickering flames of the fire pit. Her muscles tense as the pain shoots down her arms, _‘the pain is coming quicker now,’_ she thinks as she clenches her jaw.

“Say…” she begins as she stands from the ground and slowly walks toward him, “what will you do after this?”

Loki removes his book from the seat and places it back in his hidden breast pocket, “go back, of course.”

“It’s that simple?” She asks, sitting by his side and angling herself so her right shin is touching the couch.

Loki tilts his head a little, studying her face and trying to find why he feels a sudden wave of uneasiness. Branwen’s unreadable and stoic expression cracks, giving way to a kind smile, as she reaches out a hand to caress his cheek. Loki is taken aback by the gesture and is unsure how to react to this sort of situation, never having really been on the receiving end of such affection – beside his mothers. He is surprised when he is suddenly yanked forward into a tight embrace.

“It’s been fun.” Branwen whispers into his ear, as if this is their last goodbye. Pulling away slightly, their lips gravitate toward each other in a slow and sweet kiss. Opening his eyes as their lips part, he finds himself sitting on his throne.

“No!” He yells, as he slams his fist angrily onto the stone armrest. With a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach once again, he races down the steps to where the marble basin holding the water for the scrying pool is located. Touching the tip of his staff to the water, the surface ripples, picture clearing to that of Branwen sitting with crossed legs, seemingly meditating.

Her eyes flick open as the flames in the fire pit are snuffed out in one quick motion, like someone blowing out candles on a birthday cake. The door to her cabin flies open loudly as the heavy red mist filters in, forming the rough shape of a human silhouette. It grins once, that same grin of malice and pointed teeth, before rushing her, hands outstretched toward her throat. Going against all her instincts, Branwen does not move or fight back - instead she grips her knees, digging her nails into her skin. The mist enters the gem in her chest, obviously surprised, as if being sucked in without consent.

There is a moment of stillness and silence as both Branwen and the watcher of the scrying pool, breathe a sigh of relief, smiling in victory. This peace does not last for long however, before Branwen clutches at her breast, ripping away her cloak and scratching at the gem that is now pushing its way out of her chest. She screams a bloodcurdling wail, mouth opening wide as all the black smoke she had collected from the sins come spewing forth, and into the gem that now lay innocent and bloody on the floor. As each cloud enters, it slowly fills up the jewel, forcing it out into a box shape once again. The last of the wisps exits her now only slightly parted lips, as if it were the last of her life force leaving her body, she collapses onto her side with eyes wide and staring, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth and from the small eyelet-shaped hole in her chest.

Her watcher stands as still as a statue, remembering the vision he had whilst under the nightmare toxins influence. The position she is currently lying in, is the exact one he had seen on that night. Was it some sort of premonition? Steeling his resolve, he glances into the pool waters once again, just in time to see her and her surroundings get bathed in a calming white light, gradually growing with intensity and forcing him to shield his eyes from the glare. There is the sound of cracking only centimetres in front of him, making him peer curiously beneath his shielding arm seconds before the scrying pool basin shatters, showering everything, including him, in water and stone chips.

With panic and speed, her watcher teleports to her location in a flash of light of his own, rainbow in colour and scorching the surrounding area. Hastily entering the logged cabin, he finds it abandoned - as if it had been for years - with nothing but a puddle of dried blood to even suggest Branwen was ever there.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked my story! Thank you for reading! :3


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